


Lights, Camera

by ThirtySixSaveFiles



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Established Relationship, Jack doesn't respect boundaries, M/M, Masturbation, Sex Tapes, Voyeurism (kind of), non-consensual recording (kind of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 16:44:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6202999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySixSaveFiles/pseuds/ThirtySixSaveFiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Jack had wanted was to collect jerk-off material for later, because apparently Rhys was attached to his “job” and wouldn’t answer his comm when he was “in a meeting, Jack, Jesus.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lights, Camera

**Author's Note:**

> This was directly inspired by tumblr user [Redstele's](http://redstele.tumblr.com) amazing piece [here](http://redstele.tumblr.com/post/137625063848/i-swear-its-not-recording-babe), which was open in my tabs for like two weeks. Feast your eyes upon it before you continue (NSFWish).
> 
> This was also kind of a technical challenge to see if I could (basically) describe two scenes at once - you’ll have to judge for yourself if that was successful. Unbeta-ed as per usual.

“I swear it’s not recording, babe…”

The words echo around Jack’s office as he leans back in his chair. The Rhys on the display screen doesn't look like he entirely trusts the recorded Jack, side-eyeing the camera as past-Jack nibbles on the side of his neck.  _ Fucking ECHO-eye _ , Jack thinks. Rhys wouldn't have even known there was a camera there if it hadn't been for that thing.

The camera was integrated into the display on Jack’s desk, and it had been ridiculously simple to disable the red recording indicator light the last time Jack had fucked Rhys in the office. All Jack had wanted was to collect jerk-off material for later, because apparently Rhys was attached to his “job” and wouldn’t answer his comm when he was “in a meeting, Jack, Jesus.” 

It’s fucking annoying, is what it is. Jack may have to start keeping Rhys on a shorter leash. Maybe literally. He’ll have to think about that.

In the meantime, he’s stuck watching a recording instead of indulging in an afternoon quickie. At least Rhys had bought the line about the camera being turned off - the display-Jack has turned Rhys’ head back toward himself and is drawing Rhys’ lower lip into his mouth. Rhys lets out a sigh and settles further back into the recorded Jack’s lap, legs spread and back pressed to Jack’s chest. His clothes are long gone. In the recording, they're sitting in Jack’s chair facing the desk. In the present, Jack shifts his feet a little wider and draws his hands up his thighs, pressing one palm lightly down onto his growing erection.

The Jack on the screen bites down hard on Rhys’ lip, and Jack’s dick jumps at the little hurt noise Rhys makes. Blood seeps out from between their mouths on the display, and Jack licks his own lips, recalling the iron tang. The Jack on the screen runs his hand up Rhys’ jawline before wrapping his fingers around the back of Rhys’ neck, thumb coming to rest underneath the kid’s chin. Jack squeezes himself through his jeans, remembering the way Rhys’ pulse had jumped under his hand, fluttering like a trapped thing in that long neck. On the screen Rhys shifts as if to pull away, but Jack’s hand keeps him anchored where Jack wants him, stretched out and on display.

Jack unzips and pulls his cock out of his boxers, stroking himself into full hardness. It might not be the same as  _ actually _ getting to fuck Rhys, but this is still pretty good. His recorded counterpart’s other hand is out of view, but Jack knows it’s sandwiched between them, stretching Rhys out as he moans into Jack’s mouth on camera. Jack twists his wrist and grunts, remembering the way his fingers had slipped right into Rhys’ body. The kid is so  _ easy _ for him, it’s almost embarrassing, but Jack is finding that undemanding submission addictive. It’s its own kind of power trip, seeing how quickly he can make Rhys come apart. To see what he can make Rhys  _ do _ .

On the display Rhys jerks away from the recorded Jack’s mouth with a choked-off noise, and Jack knows it’s because he had gotten three fingers into Rhys and had  _ twisted _ them. Jack hums to himself as his strokes pick up, as his own voice echoes around him: “aw cupcake, you are gonna feel this for  _ days _ .”

Rhys doesn’t answer, but his brows furrows and he bites his lip as the recorded Jack lifts him slightly and slowly lowers him on to Jack’s dick. Rhys’s mouth falls open at the stretch, and Jack’s breath hisses out between his teeth, remembering that tight heat. On the screen Jack bounces Rhys up and down a couple times, tearing small noises out of him that Jack savors even as his breath comes faster. In retaliation Rhys braces his hands on the arms of the chair and moves his hips in a dirty grind against Jack’s, which makes the recorded Jack swear and grab Rhys by the hips. He heaves Rhys up and on to the desk for better leverage - taking both of them completely out of Jack’s view.

Jack’s left hand digs into the armrest as the camera feed stubbornly stays trained on the empty chair.  _ “ _ Son of a  _ bitch.”  _ He had forgotten to turn on the motion tracking, like a goddamned idiot. He squeezes angrily at his dick, thinking that at least he still has the audio and maybe it’s just better to get this over quickly, when the feed starts moving apparently of its own accord. Jack’s hand relaxes as he leans forward. “What the  _ hell _ ?”

The recording slowly pans away from Jack’s empty chair to show first Jack’s fantastic ass, then Rhys where’s he’s spread over Jack’s desk. The Jack in the recording is already fucking back into Rhys, who is bracing himself on his arms, the metal hand clenched around the far edge, the flesh one flat against the desk. The camera comes to a stop with the two of them in full view, and Jack realizes that Rhys is looking  _ right at _ the camera, Echo-eye glowing a bright and damning blue.

“Oh Rhysie,” Jack breathes out. “You kinky little bitch.”

As if he can hear Jack, a sly smile ghosts across Rhys’ face, but it’s quickly replaced as the Jack on the screen gets a hand in Rhys’ hair and pulls his head back at what looks like a painful angle. Rhys lets out a strained whine as the on-screen Jack plants an arm on the desk next to him and leans down to snarl into his ear.

“I’m sorry, pumpkin, am I  _ boring  _ you?” A savage thrust of the recorded Jack’s hips drives Rhys up on his toes and rips another strangled noise out of him. His hands scrabble for purchase on the desk, metal one sliding on the slick surface.  “Is there something that’s  _ distracting _ you?”

Fuck, Jack remembered that. Rhys hadn’t seemed as responsive as usual, like Jack didn’t have his full attention. And apparently that had been true. But next Rhys had -

On the screen Rhys gets his hands under him finally, and uses them to push back into the recorded Jack’s grip.

“ _ Harder _ .” Rhys turns his head slightly, and at the time Jack had thought he was looking over his shoulder but in the recording it’s clear that Rhys is looking directly at the camera, as if he can see through to where Jack is sitting now. “Come on, I thought you were going to make me  _ feel  _ it.”

So much for undemanding.

On the screen Jack grins, although it’s more a baring of teeth than a smile. “All right, princess. Just remember, you asked for this.”

Rhys laughs breathlessly, the cocky little shit, but Jack notes with satisfaction that the laugh is driven out of him as the on-screen Jack sets a punishing pace, kicking Rhys’ feet wider and forcing him back down the desk. Jack had done it to set Rhys off-balance, but the thing about Rhys is that no matter what Jack throws at him the kid just  _ takes  _ it and asks for more; on screen Jack might be riding the kid’s ass into next week, but Rhys is pushing back into it as best he can. The wet sound of flesh on flesh fills Jack’s office, and Jack’s dick jumps in his hand as Rhys lets out a muffled scream as he comes, untouched, over Jack’s desk. 

Jack’s hand twists on his cock, other hand digging into his thigh, and he feels the familiar tightening in his gut that means he’s close. In the recording Rhys is draped bonelessly over the desk, each thrust the on-screen Jack gives him pushing him a bit further up off his toes. The recorded Jack’s thrusts grow erratic, and he pulls Rhys back toward himself one last time, hips snapping forward and going still. On the screen Jack groans, low and gravelly, and in his chair Jack’s breath is coming short, thumb sliding over the wet tip of his cock before he strokes frantically back down.

The on-screen Jack pulls out of Rhys, hands smoothing over Rhys’ ass, spreading Rhys’ cheeks with his thumbs. The angle is almost lost, but Jack can just see his own come leaking out of Rhys’ hole, his recorded counterpart’s thumb smearing it into Rhy’s skin. The sight steals what’s left of his breath and Jack comes  _ hard,  _ muscles tense and dick jerking in his hand. Come spatters his shirt, and Jack takes a moment to regret that he couldn’t stripe Rhys’ face - another lost opportunity - but it’s washed away as his orgasm rolls over him.

When Jack looks up again the screen is dark, the words “End of File” floating in the middle. He wipes his hand on his shirt and tucks himself back into his pants, then leans back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling.

So Rhysie has a bit of an exhibitionist streak, hmm? He had known the camera was on the whole time, and he hadn’t said a goddamned thing. Jack can think of  _ all kinds _ of fun ways to exploit that little tendency - but what else, Jack wonders, has Rhys been holding out about…

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [ThirtySixSaveFiles](http://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!


End file.
